The Travails of a Paper

INTRODUCTION

Hey everyone! I have decided to start a new series to publish on my blog. It’s called- ‘The Diaries of Seemingly Insignificant Things’.
Within this series, I talk about the lives and stories of myriad everyday objects, thus rendering their insignificance non-existent.
I feel that these voiceless, lifeless things around us would have very interesting perspectives and are definitely worth sharing.
‘If only walls could speak’, they say; well, what if they actually can? That, I found to be a very intriguing concept and perspective thus leading me to ‘The Diaries’.
The first of the stories is about this paper. It begins with the paper at a factory somewhere narrating its story.
Read on and find out what it has to say.

I was white, as white as it gets. Spotless. Smooth. Soft. And boy, was I fit! My grains were all tight together making for one hell of an attractive texture. But the best part was my length. never had I seen that kind of length, not even from the other rolls around me who kept talking about how they’d grow out to be all long and smooth. Well, maybe they did but I, on the other hand, had grown out to be a dream.

Oh yes, the humans all around at the factory kept talking about how their ‘supercalendar’ and ‘bladecoater’ were unbelievably efficient and how that hateful pressing machine’s consistency at churning out rolls like me was amazing. But I knew better. It had absolutely nothing to do with any of these new fangled contraptions men were so inexplicably fond of, nothing to do with all those horrid, hurtful chemicals. No. It was all in my genes.

Coming from an elite plantation of fine Chestnut, I was cut out of one of the finest fellows on the estate. I was brought over to this mill- all pulpy and dirty but a fine specimen nevertheless. Initially, the lignin (glue holding our fibre together) removal was quite traumatic but I got over it- I couldn’t falter there, I was meant for bigger things.
And after a whole lot of processes, painful ones I might add, I finally reached the bladecoater. And here I was, post all the processes.

I was sitting pretty on this table looking at the other rolls around me- quite a few of them were riff-raff from wild trees who, very evidently, were outright toilet paper material.
There were others too, from good enough plantations but looked like I alone made it out of mine. Oh well, as long as I made it out, i suppose.
I was silently chuckling at this roll who was wailing after getting assigned to the toilet paper department when this other roll said, ‘Hey! How are you holding up?’
I gave him a quick head-to-toe (technically, we don’t have those but you pick up all kinds of stuff from these humans); he seemed OK. ‘I’m great. Why wouldn’t  I be?’ And after a pause, I added- ‘Where do you think they’ll send you?’
The roll gave a weak shudder and said ruefully, ‘I really don’t want to think about it. Anything but toilet paper is fine with me. Change the topic. What kind are you from?’

Although I sympathized with him, I couldn’t help but rub in- ‘You have no idea how excited I am about my future! I’m quite sure I’ll end up as a novel!’ Before he could start moaning again, I quickly answered his question- ‘Chestnut and in all modesty, of the best kind.’
At this, he fell into a complete slump. He muttered something about how he had stuff to do and dragged his sorry self away.
‘Ha!’, I said to myself. ‘What a mess! He was so abso-‘ BEEEEEEEP, blared the factory speakers. It was time for the decision.
I was going to become a novel. Maybe Ludlum’s latest. Or this amazing reprint of some great literary work, Shakespeare perhaps? I would go down in history as being the paper that bore the great man’s words in the latest reprint. I deserved nothing less, being the fine specimen I was.
I glanced at the others around me- a nervous lot of quivering and scared papers. Ha! Mere peasants- helpless against fate! I wasn’t. I wouldn’t accept anything lesser than a novel. I’d revolt, in whatever way I can. I won’t let myself get cut nor would I let them move me. I would- I broke off.
‘Why on Earth am I tensed?’, I asked myself. ‘Nothing but the best will happen’. With this, I resumed waiting for the announcement, pretending I didn’t notice the tension rapidly building up inside.
Novel. Novel. Novel. Novel. Novel. Novel. Novel. ‘Notebook!’
That wasn’t for me, right? I’m not notebook material. That’s for the peasants.
This big, hairy man walked up to me. ‘Notebook’. No. Impossible. ‘Notebook’.
I’m elite. This is a dream.

‘Notebook’.

INTERSTELLAR- A LAYMAN’S TAKE.

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas’s oft-quoted words find new meaning and depth within Sir Michael Caine’s renowned cockney; though they give but an inkling of what is in store for us as well as for the travellers in Interstellar. Welcome to the world of Interstellar, where the Earth isn’t what it is today. Our planet is reeling from a horrendous blight which has left humanity grappling with starvation and desolation, forcing it to regress into an agrarian society. Farming becomes the order of the day, as dust and gloom shroud the planet in seemingly endless despair; farming no longer is a choice but a necessity because the planet is fast running out of food. So even people like McConaughey’s Cooper- a former NASA pilot and an engineer, turn to farming in order to check the alarming food scenario that prevails in the movie. But as Donald (John Lithgow), Cooper’s father-in-law says, farming was never Cooper’s destiny. And his words come dead true with Cooper getting himself embroiled in NASA’s ambitious Interstellar project. He signs up, packs up and subsequently, flies up. Amelia (Anne Hathaway), Doyle (Wes Bentley) and Rommilly (David Oyelowo) are the fellow voyagers. Now begins the movie. The first instance where your jaw-drop will reach floor-scraping proportions is when the spacecraft glides along the rings of Saturn. And the best part- you find yourself marveling more not at the majestic Rings themselves, but at Nolan’s masterful depiction of the moment. The way he embroiders the light to the subject(s) on-screen mesmerizes and dazzles, just as it frightens and reveals. As the movie progresses, Nolan’s genius bursts forth- not just satisfied with containing itself behind the lens. In fact, at times, it is wholly visible, almost assuming a physical presence. Van Hoytema, Pfister’s replacement, exceeds expectations with his cinematography as he achieves the perfect balance between the vast infinity of space and the confinement the crew journeys in. Nolan takes you on a ride for which you can never prepare. Through space and time, he continually amazes, almost as if it were second nature.  But the movie would have been damp were it not for the glorious and versatile Matthew McConaughey. A description of his performance will command all of the superlatives out there and would still be falling short. He carries the movie on his shoulders, breathing life into Cooper and his labours. Hathaway perfectly complements him and does not disappoint at all.  Mackenzie Foy was splendid too, delivering a short albeit tremendous performance. But Interstellar isn’t just Nolan’s film.  With perhaps one of the greatest background scores in this century (if not the greatest), Hans Zimmer boggles your mind left, right and center. The music adds a whole other dimension to Interstellar, absorbing you into the film’s magical intergalactic marvels. But then again, you can expect no less from the great Zimmer.

On the whole, Interstellar is simply one of the best movies of all time, narrowly edging out A Space Odyssey in its genre. Its got life-changing perspectives and ideas, and forces you to delve deeper within yourself and introspect. It perfectly captures the vast infinity of the Universe, making us realize just how small and insignificant we all are.

So do yourself a favour and leap at the first chance you get to watch this because Interstellar is truly a masterpiece.

Title explanation.

Hi. I am an eighteen year old boy from Hyderabad, India.
In the eighteen years that I have lived, I have come across a ginormous number of things. Travels, books, movies, TV shows, magazines, songs, public transport, schools, college, apartment, neighbourhood, family, friends and so on, have helped me assimilate myriad experiences and glean whatever bits of information I can from them.
Now, all of these assimilated thoughts have been compelling me to write about them and share their existence with the world. At first, I thought it was too much work. Then, it seemed like it wasn’t anything worthwhile- after all thoughts fade away, right? They don’t hang on to your head like a highly annoying (and fictitious)bunch of leeches which sucks away to glory at your energy until all you can do is yield to their demands, right? Right? Wrong! In fact, you can’t get wronger!
Right from the escapades of Walter White (Breaking Bad, anyone?) to Cumberbatch’s curls to Tesla’s awesomeness to Manga to the horrendous and dreadful situation at Gaza to political events and incidents to movies to anecdotes and to a million more things- my train of thoughts has got ’em all covered.
Unable to put up with this train’s daily clamouring for the voices of its passengers (the thoughts, in case you haven’t been following the metaphor) to be shared and hopefully heard, I have decided to blog. To blog and out the suffocated thoughts within. Also, its morally fulfilling because I consider it akin to releasing caged birds.
So this is why I am under the gun and will be, as long as the thoughts don’t cease, because I am under pressure from within to let all of them (well, not all of them)be heard and shared with this world.

There ends this post.
To many more posts and a lot more of blogging!
Cheers!
PS: I am not schizophrenic so don’t even.